


slow hands

by rain_at_dawn



Series: chiaroscuro [10]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Glory Hole, Knifeplay, M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: He wonders how many fucks it’s going to take to make a murder of this, how many times they’d have to repeat this mistake to finally get it right.
Relationships: Choi Minho/Kim Kibum | Key
Series: chiaroscuro [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951579
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	slow hands

Minho shoots him a glance over his shoulder and just like that, the room’s on fire. As soon as he turns away, the party returns to full swing around them, the unsuspecting guests none the wiser. An illegal arms dealers’ convention should have been more discreet, but that much would have been too obvious. Hiding in plain sight makes perfect sense to Kibum.

Amidst the clinking glasses and loaded chatter, Kibum loses track of Minho in the crowd. It isn’t anything to panic over; not yet. There’s a long way to go until Kibum’s mission really begins, which is as soon as the clock chimes midnight. Enough time to play.

The entrances to the restrooms are adjacent to the ballroom; a convenient respite from frivolities and, perhaps more so, prying eyes. Kibum makes his way to the nearest men’s, taking care to balance an air of nonchalance – slightly tipsy from the champagne – with enough discretion to fly under the radar. He’s long gotten used to the unsettling sense of parallelism that came with undercover work, that one amounted to little more than a shadow; a ghost.

The men’s restroom is unsurprisingly larger than most of the apartments he’s lived in. The long row of stalls continues for what seems like the length of street before Kibum gets to the very end. A whole lot of trouble just to get to a couple of glory holes, one of which he knows is occupied at the other end by a familiar stranger.

He enters the second last stall, makes sure to lock the door behind him and leans against the side-wall, tapping five times on the wood with his knuckles. Five was always their code; the number of floors Kibum had tracked Minho up to before he’d been spotted after their first date, the number of knives Minho kept strapped on his person, and the exact amount of bullets Minho would take for him.

_“Because I’d be firing the sixth.”_ He’d told Kibum once, wiping the blood off his chin where the tip of the knife had nearly got him.

Five knocks.

Then, the almost imperceptible sound of unzipping from the other side.

Kibum gets down on his knees, the hole in the wall feigning the sanctity of a prized peephole that revealed the secrets of a mark. Minho doesn’t waste time on foreplay at the other end; the tip of his cock emerges, swollen and flushed.

Such moments as these aren’t as much treasured as they are caught between teeth and licked at, tasting of adrenalin. Kibum still gives the best he can, opening up wide and suckling eagerly on flesh so eagerly offered. It’s a temporary escape from the stress of the job, something to compensate for nights wasted on each missing the other, whether it was from an ill-timed punch or worse.

He hears Minho’s pants through the wall; he imagines his closed eyes and wet lips, forehead damp with sweat, just like the last time they’d fucked after a fist fight. Each time he swears, Kibum counts his blessings.

* * *

He still hears the bullets singing past his ear after he’d pushed Minho out of the line of fire. It was nothing but a close call, warranting nothing more than a quick brushing off and a ‘thank you’ if Kibum had been lucky.

But he’s not quite lucky. Whether it’s even more or less an approximation of that damn word, he’s not sure. He doesn’t know what to call this aftermath of a mission which finds him and Minho clawing at each other through their expensive silk shirts. The mission itself had been a resounding success; the mark had been taken out and a potential international crisis had been averted, saving the lives of millions.

But none of that’s ever been on the cards for either of them. What matters for Kibum is that he finally gets to lay into Minho, blow by blow, as punishment for scaring him like that. “Teach you how not to get almost killed,” he whispers hoarsely to Minho in the privacy of a dank motel-room, knife to his throat. Let the world shake for all Kibum was done with him.

The tip of the blade arcs forward, cutting through the thread that attaches button to cloth; Kibum’s heart pounds clean out of his chest while his grip steadies on the handle. There’s barely a scratch to mar Minho’s skin as he calmly shrugs off the remains of his shirt, the roses of his flushed cheeks notwithstanding. He seizes Kibum’s wrist and sends the knife skittering across the floor, before seizing his mouth in a desperate, glorious kiss.

What remains of their clothing is summarily torn off and flung around with no abandon, nails on skin deep enough to draw blood, Minho’s teeth nipping into his bottom lip and sucking as hard as he can. When he pins Kibum against the wall, he wraps his legs around him and doesn’t wince when the tip pushes up inside him.

Somewhere from the back of his lust-riddled mind, Kibum recalls that the French call the post-orgasms ‘little deaths’. He wonders how many fucks it’s going to take to make a murder of this, how many times they’d have to repeat this mistake to finally get it right. All of the muscles in his body – from the sinews knotting up his limbs to the heart hammering away in his chest in time to Minho’s frantic thrusts – scream for mercy against the rest of his baser instincts.

Nobody else in the agency knows his body like Minho does; nobody else knows his mind or the entity substituting for a heart.

So all Kibum does is offer up his body in penance, accepting and making peace with the demons in his head, knowing full well that no matter what Minho thinks, there’s no absolution in sight. But perhaps – through a shred of hope Kibum dreams he glimpses in the corner of Minho’s heated gaze – they’ll keep trying. 


End file.
